


what the night is thinking

by sci_fis



Series: Inspired by Siken [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Hook, Bondage, Crossdressing Kink, D/s with affection, Dean loves Sam more than anything i don't make the rules, Feminization, Gags, Gentle Dom Dean Winchester, M/M, Rimming, Samulet (Supernatural), Sub Sam Winchester, Subspace, brothers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sci_fis/pseuds/sci_fis
Summary: The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the nightis thinking. It’s thinking of love.-- Richard Siken





	1. Chapter 1

Dean waits in their motel room, eyes on the bathroom door.

It’s been a long time since they checked in to a motel; they haven’t needed to, not with all the space the bunker offers. But now, with various hunters coming and going at all hours, they couldn’t afford to be interrupted. This isn’t going to be a quickie. (Although quickies can be just as fun: hurried, desperate orgasms in one of their rooms, his hand over Sam’s mouth to keep him from moaning too loud.)

There’s an achy little song on the radio, just on the wrong side of bittersweet for Dean to allow it to ruin this night. He unfolds his legs and gets up to switch it off, and of course Sam chooses that moment, the one second that Dean has his back to the door, to swing it open. Dean turns around, his breath already quickening in anticipation.

Sam walks toward him, slow and impossibly graceful in strappy, shiny little red heels. Black stockings hug his long, long legs, ending at his thighs in embroidered lace. The sheer red negligee he’s wearing stops just below his waist, revealing a red thong that’s… wait. Dean blinks, brain fuzzy with arousal. There should be a rather large bulge behind the silky material, but there isn’t.

“Show me?” His voice is scratchy, barely there.

Sam nods, letting the movement make his hair swing over his face, dark, dark strands even silkier than his panties, shiny in the soft yellow light, framing his cheeks and making him look about fifteen years younger. His lips match his outfit, ruby-red and glistening, his huge kaleidoscope eyes framed in soft kohl.

Dean sits down at the edge of the bed, his legs refusing to hold him up any longer.

Sam stops in front of him. This close, Dean can smell his light summery perfume. He takes Sam’s left wrist and lowers his face to it, nuzzling the spot where Sam has sprayed the scent. 

Sam’s free hand strokes lightly over Dean’s hair. “You wanted to see,” he reminds Dean, sounding almost amused.

“Mm-hmm.” Dean reaches for the flimsy ribbons that hold the thong tied around Sam’s hips, finding one of the ends and tugging the knot free. It gives way immediately.

“Sammy,” he says. “God, Sam.”

Sam is encased in a light, plastic cock-cage, transparent, with little gold straps bound around his balls, keeping them snugly tied. 

“When did you get this?” Dean runs a fingertip over the soft head of Sam’s cock, swiping up the wetness there.

Sam takes his hand by the wrist and brings it up to his mouth, licking away the bead of pre-come. “When you weren’t looking,” he says around Dean’s finger.

“Cheeky,” Dean murmurs. He brushes his lips against the spot where his finger has just been, kissing Sam’s cock lightly. “Your clit’s all wet for me, baby girl,” he says, his lips never leaving Sam’s captive flesh.

Abandoning all attempt at further banter, Sam throws his head back and moans his appreciation as Dean licks and sucks him gently, not wanting the confining cage to hurt him. Sam’s entire body quivers against him, and Dean puts his hands on Sam’s hips to hold him steady.

“Easy,” he says, letting the soft tip of Sam’s cock slip out of his mouth. He tugs open the ribbons on Sam’s other hip, balling up the material in his palm. “Open.” 

Sam opens his mouth, instantly obedient. Dean gags him with the panties, loving the way Sam moans around the cloth as his mouth is filled.

“Turn around,” Dean says. “Bend over and show me your hole.”

Sam bends over. His hair slides like a curtain around his face as he bows his head, and Dean grasps a silky handful and tugs his head up. “Eyes on the mirror.” 

Gaze fixed on the mirror opposite the bed—thank goodness for cheap motels—Sam reaches behind himself and spreads his ass cheeks with both hands.

“You get your pussy all clean for me, slut?” Dean’s playing a role now, a script directed by Sam, and they’ve done this so many times now that it comes easier to him, saying things that he’d never say, that he never ever means, only because Sam wants to hear them, because they make Sam desperate with arousal.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam says through his gag.

“Next time, I’m going to be the one to do it.” Dean brings the flat of his hand down, right on Sam’s hole. “Got it?” 

Sam moans his agreement, hips pushing back for more. 

Dean spanks his hole a couple more times. “You should see how your hungry little hole is twitching,” he says. “Gonna film it for you sometime, show you what your pussy looks like when I spank it.”

He meets Sam’s eyes in the mirror. Sam’s pupils are blown wide, his breath coming noisily through his nose, a wisp of red satin visible between his lips.

Dean kisses his hip. “Show me your safe signal.”

Sam rolls his eyes, shifting to brat mode in the space of a second.

Dean leans forward and blows gently on Sam’s exposed hole. “Do it, or I’ll…” He stops. There’s really nothing he can threaten Sam with that Sam will believe for a moment. “Please,” he says, nosing up Sam’s crack, pressing a kiss against his hole.

Sam relents, snapping his fingers thrice in quick succession. The sound chills Dean, even though he knows Sam doesn’t mean it for real. He hopes fervently that Sam will never have to safe-word his way out of a scene.

“Good girl.” Pulling himself together, Dean pulls out the bag he’d slid under the bed earlier, zipping it open and pulling out the black velcro straps they use in lieu of ropes. “Cross your wrists.” He wraps the material swiftly around Sam’s wrists and secures it in place.

He gets to his feet, helping Sam straighten up as he does. “On the bed.” 

Sam kneels on the bed, facing the mirror, a little imbalanced because his hands are trapped behind his back. 

“Easy,” Dean says again, steadying him with a hand on his elbow. He bends to press a kiss against Sam’s temple, lingering there for a moment as they watch themselves in the mirror: Dean in one of his FBI suits because Sam loves him in it when they play like this, and Sam in his flimsy, unbearably sensual outfit. 

“So fucking sexy,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s hair, burying his face in it. It smells heavenly, just washed and carefully blow-dried, falling in waves around Sam’s face. He cups Sam’s face in his hands and kisses him over the gag, teasing the tip of his tongue between Sam’s lips. Sam presses back, soft, needy sounds escaping his throat. 

Dean knows how much Sam loves to be kissed when they’re together like this, and denying Sam anything has never been within his means. He tugs the sodden material from Sam’s mouth and tosses it aside, tilting Sam’s face up to kiss him properly. They lose themselves in it for several moments, Dean caressing Sam’s cheekbones with his thumbs as he slides his tongue into Sam’s mouth and lets Sam suck on it, Sam pressing as close against Dean as he can, their eyes shut tightly, the mirror forgotten for the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably-NSFW image at the end, be warned.

“I liked the gag,” Sam says when they pull apart. His lipstick’s all messed up and it’s somehow even more sexy.

“You also like kissing,” Dean reminds him, pulling away reluctantly. He has work to do. “And, by the way, be careful what you wish for.” 

He returns to Sam’s side with Sam’s favorite ring-gag dangling from his fingers. It has a large silver steel ring to hold Sam’s mouth open and several thick black straps, two that fasten around Sam’s head and a third that goes up over his head and is buckled to the fastenings at the back. The point where the straps converge over the bridge of Sam’s nose has a pair of nose-hooks that are inserted into Sam’s nostrils. Dean would never have believed that face bondage could be enjoyable if not for his adventurous, endlessly kinky little brother.

“You need some water before this,” he says, reaching for the bottle on the night stand.

“I’m good. Save the aftercare for later.” Sam grins, cheeky as fuck.

“Indulge me.” Dean raises the bottle to Sam’s mouth and leaves him with no choice but to take a few sips.

“Bossy.”

“I thought that was the idea.” Dean gives him a quick, hard kiss. “Open up.”

It takes a minute to secure all the straps. Dean’s least favorite part is sliding the blunt steel nose-hooks in, even if Sam has assured him repeatedly that they don’t hurt at all. When he’s done, he gently kisses Sam’s captive nostrils. Sam looks up at him, eyes full of trust, reassuring Dean.

“The things I do for you,” he mock-grumbles, running a hand quickly through Sam’s hair before falling back into character.

There’s one more item to retrieve from the bag. He brings it to Sam and holds it up in front of his face.

Sam’s eyes widen at the sight of the anal hook, and he nods his head fervently.

“Slut,” Dean says. He inserts the large rounded end into Sam’s open mouth. “Hold it there. Get it good and wet.”

Getting a couple of pillows, Dean helps Sam lie on his front with the pillows under his stomach, his ass raised up high. Sam lies with his cheek against the mattress, his hands lax in their bonds, inescapably secured at the small of his back, his eyes shut, sucking on the end of the hook. His face is utterly content, free of all worries for once. And this—this is why Dean readily agrees to whatever Sam wants to do during sex. Not that Sam isn’t hotter than most models for BDSM sites when he’s wearing the sexiest little scraps and bound and gagged with his holes filled, but there’s nothing else Dean knows that can bring the look of peace Sam gets on his face when he’s in sub-space. 

Christ, there should be a word stronger than love to describe the lengths to which Dean is willing to go to keep his baby brother safe and happy.

Sam opens his eyes and quirks his eyebrows, clearly saying _get on with it_.

“Brat.” Dean slaps Sam’s ass. “Spread your legs. Wide as you can.”

Meeting Sam’s gaze in the mirror, he loosens his tie and pulls it off in a quick movement, watching the way Sam’s eyes follow his every move. Getting between Sam’s legs, he takes a moment to admire how gorgeous Sam looks like this, stockinged legs open wide for Dean, his perfect ass framed softly by the faux-fur at the hem of his sheer red negligee. 

Pushing Sam’s thighs wider apart, he spreads Sam’s cheeks with his thumbs and spits directly on his hole. Sam’s entire body bucks wildly like he’s been lashed with a whip, a strangled cry escaping from his stuffed mouth.

Without further ado, Dean lowers his mouth to Sam’s waiting hole, keeping him spread open with one hand on each ass cheek, gripping and kneading the flesh roughly. He circles Sam’s rim with maddeningly slow movements of his tongue, licking delicately until Sam’s hole is twitching furiously and dripping with saliva. Then he digs his thumbs in deeper and spreads Sam wider, exposing the soft skin beneath, licking deeper, beginning to slide the tip of his tongue in and out. 

He loses track of time as he eats Sam out thoroughly, his face buried between Sam’s cheeks and Sam’s body writhing with need under him. Sam moans and moans like he’s being tortured, deep guttural sounds punched out of him every time Dean stabs his tongue into his body, sounds that would make Dean freak out completely in any other context. But they’ve done this too many times for Dean to be afraid when Sam makes those tormented sounds, because he’s perfectly okay with tormenting Sam with as much pleasure as his brother can bear to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's favorite gag:


	3. Chapter 3

Dean finally pulls back when he can’t feel his tongue anymore, wiping the spit off his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Sam goes limp under him, his body still shuddering.

Dean runs a soothing hand down Sam’s thigh. “Hey. You good?”

Sam grunts, eyes shut tight, mouth drooling helplessly. The anal hook lies next to him on the bed, long since forgotten.

“Gonna have to punish you for not holding it.”

Sam opens his eyes, looking completely dazed. 

Dean holds up the hook. “Talking about this. You with me?”

Sam nods.

“Good.” Dean runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, damp with sweat now. “Water?”

Sam shakes his head.

“Sure?”

Rolling his eyes again, Sam nods.

“You were supposed to keep the hook wet, slut. I should just stuff it in you dry to teach you a lesson.”

Sam inhales sharply, and Dean knows why. They’ve talked about fantasies of forced sex before, and they’re definitely going to go there sometime. There’s no fucking way Dean will ever force any object into Sam’s body, fantasy or not, but he knows the talk turns Sam on.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continues. “To have this shoved inside you without any lube, forcing that slutty little hole open. You’d beg for it if you weren’t gagged.” 

Sam’s breathing is loud, through his mouth this time. Dean gets a tissue and kneels in front of Sam, wiping the drool from Sam’s chin. “Doing so well,” he murmurs against Sam’s skin, kissing his damp forehead.

Sam nuzzles back against Dean’s face, sweet, sluggish, only half there. Dean runs his thumb over Sam’s stretched-wide lips and kisses him gently, licking into his mouth, petting his hair.

“Give me your safe signal,” he says. Part of him hates trespassing into Sam’s blissed-out space, but he has to be sure that Sam is aware and capable of asking for Dean to stop if necessary.

Sam blinks a couple of times.

“Sammy?” Dean takes Sam’s face in his hands. “C’mon. Your signal.” 

Sam snaps his fingers, lightly enough that they barely make a sound, but he remembers to do it thrice. 

“Good,” Dean says, still cupping Sam’s face. “So good for me.” Sam shuts his eyes with a tiny sigh, and Dean kisses his closed eyelids. “You wanna stop, kiddo?”

“Nuh-uh.” Sam shakes his head without opening his eyes.

“You sure?”

“Mm.”

Dean has pretty much always fucked Sam’s mouth when he’s worn this gag in the past, but he knows he won’t this time, not when Sam is so soft and vulnerable. Sam will probably bitch at him about it later, but fuck that. He trusts Sam enough to carry on when Sam asks him to, but it doesn’t mean he’s capable of taking his own pleasure from Sam when he’s this helpless.

He will, however, do more stuff that he knows Sam loves, because the whole point of this, after all, is to please Sam’s kinky little heart as much as he can.

Getting to his feet, he circles around the bed to pick up the lube. Pressing the nozzle of the bottle against Sam’s tongued-open, glistening hole, he squirts a generous amount directly inside him. Sam’s hole squeezes hard around the nozzle, his hips already beginning to move like he’s being fucked.

“There you go. Now you’re all ready to have that pussy stuffed full.” After sliding a couple of fingers inside him to make sure he’s ready—Sam squeezes those too, beginning to hump the pillows now—he eases the rounded end of the hook into Sam’s hole, sliding it all the way in until he knows it’s right up against the spot where Sam needs it most. 

Dean pushes the free end of the hook into Sam’s bound hands. “Grab on to that.”

Sam catches on immediately, holding the hook tightly and tugging it as he fucks himself, ensuring it presses against his prostate every time he thrusts his hips forward.

“C’mon, bitch.” Dean slaps his ass hard. “Hump harder. Get it rubbing good and hard against your G-spot.”

Sam obeys mindlessly, hips thrusting and circling, his ass clenching and unclenching around the hard steel.

Leaving him writhing, Dean quickly gets two more velcro straps. He pushes Sam’s ankles together and binds them first, then folds his legs in half.

“Gonna hogtie you, slut. Truss you up completely so you can’t move one fucking muscle.”

Sam whimpers, lifting his head to watch in the mirror as Dean uses the second strap to lash his ankles to his wrists.

He doesn’t know about Sam, but he’s definitely nearing the end of his tether now. More than wanting to come—he’s been achingly hard ever since Sam had writhed on his tongue—he wants more than anything to hold Sam close and watch him fall asleep in his arms.

A cuddler. Dean fucking Winchester has been turned into a fucking cuddler by a beautiful boy who owns him completely, and Dean wouldn’t even have it any other way.

He rolls Sam gently on to his side, making Sam moan in frustration as he’s forced to stop thrusting.

“Look at you,” Dean says, rubbing his thumbs over Sam’s nipples through the sheer red fabric. “All helpless. I can do whatever I want to you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Sam moves his hips restlessly, silently begging for release.

Dean slaps his ass. “You’ll come when I say you can. Tug on that hook,” he says, twisting Sam’s nipples, making him moan and arch his back. “Do it. Pleasure that pussy.”

He dips his head and sucks on Sam’s nipples one after the other, wetting the flimsy material, his hands running all over Sam’s struggling body in a parody of molestation, knowing how much Sam gets off on it. Dean slowly works his way lower, arms pushing around Sam’s body to hold his ass and squeeze his cheeks together. He’s not even pretending now that he isn’t kissing Sam’s body with anything but gentleness, running his mouth over Sam’s taut stomach, kissing his navel, lips following the light trail of hair down to where his cock and balls are unforgivably imprisoned.

“Oh, baby,” he says, nuzzling against Sam’s trapped cock. It comes out naturally, the term of endearment he’s never actually used with Sam before. Without overthinking it, he carefully frees Sam’s balls from the bands around them, and then lifts the plastic cage off his cock.

Sam whines and struggles even harder, and Dean gentles him with his hands on Sam’s hips. “Sshh. I got you.” He licks carefully around the lines left on Sam’s genitals, glad to see that they aren’t too deep and haven’t left any bruising; he’d have kicked Sam’s ass six ways from Sunday if he’d hurt himself. 

He licks and sucks until Sam is gloriously hard before taking him all the way into his mouth, Sam’s cock nudging against his throat and instantly making his eyes water. He doesn’t stop, fucking his mouth down on Sam, releasing his hips and sliding his hands up Sam’s torso to relentlessly squeeze and pinch his nipples. For all his loud moaning during the entire time they’ve been doing this, Sam finally comes with a low, quiet sound. He lies bonelessly as Dean licks him clean.

Dean slides up Sam’s body and licks into his gagged mouth one last time, letting him taste himself in Dean’s mouth, before undoing the straps and gently tugging the hooks and ring free. The straps have left marks on Sam’s face but they don’t look too bad, more like sleep lines than anything else. He undoes the strap holding Sam’s wrists and ankles together, carefully unfolding his legs since Sam seems disinclined to do so on his own.

“Hey,” he says, patting Sam’s face. “C’mon, sleepy. I gotta get you untied before you pass out on me.”

Sam opens his eyes. “Not yet.”

“What?”

“You haven’t come.” 

“Sammy, you’re exhausted. It can wait.”

“No fucking way.” Sam struggles to get upright, managing to get to his knees with his hands and feet still tied and impressing the hell out of Dean. He kind of falls against Dean, unable to hold himself up, but he gets his mouth where he wants it, nuzzling against the front of Dean’s trousers. “I need you to come in my mouth. Dean, please.” 

“At least let me—”

“No. Just like this.” 

“Now who’s bossy?” Dean says, but Sam’s warm, wet mouth is already trying to suck him through two layers of cloth, and he’s only human. As quickly as possible, his fingers shaking with need, he unzips his pants and pulls himself out.

Sam is on him in an instant, sucking him down like he’s been starving for Dean. 

“Sam. Sammy, fuck.” Dean gets one hand on the back of Sam’s head, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair, keeping him from choking himself. “Slow, baby. Go slow.”

“Make me,” Sam says with his mouth full of cock. 

Dean groans, petting his hair and letting him do as he pleases. He reaches around Sam with his other hand and lightly runs his fingers down the crack of Sam’s ass, tracing the hook still held snugly inside Sam’s body. He caresses the straps binding Sam, blindly seeking and finding Sam’s hands, and their fingers entwine tightly. Dean holds on tight as he comes down Sam’s throat, crying out Sam’s name. Sam keeps him in his mouth until he starts to soften, his eyes closed, his bound body sweetly lax.

“Hey,” Dean says finally. “C’mere.” He tugs Sam up into his arms. “Are you ever gonna let me untie you?” he says into Sam’s hair, holding him close.

“In a minute,” Sam says, pushing his face into Dean’s neck.

Dean sighs. “Your wish is my command, princess.” He feels Sam smile against his skin.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam’s breaths even out in a way that tells Dean he’s fallen into a light sleep, he gently eases himself away and moves behind Sam to undo the strap binding his wrists behind his back. Sam mutters something, his eyelids struggling to open, and Dean leans over him and shushes him, pressing kisses to his temple, his hair.

“Sshh, sshh, go back to sleep. It’s fine, it’s all right.”

He brings Sam’s arms to his front and wraps up his wrists again. Sam loves waking up bound and plugged, loves fueling the fantasy that he’s going to be kept tied and used over and over, and Dean isn’t going to deny him that small pleasure, but sleeping with your arms tied behind your back can’t be good for anyone.

Sam sighs in his sleep, hands moving into the space between their bodies, and Dean quickly slips a hand into Sam’s, squeezing his fingers. Sam stills immediately, pushing his face into the pillow, his hair veiling his features completely. Dean can’t help smiling at the sight. Scooting closer, he wraps Sam up in his arms again and falls asleep with Sam’s floofy hair tickling his nostrils.

 

*

 

An hour or so later, Dean wakes to find Sam stroking himself languidly, on his back with his face turned toward Dean.

“Started without me?” Dean asks, his voice sleep-rough.

“Kiss me,” Sam demands, working himself with his bound hands.

Dean slides closer and takes Sam’s mouth, kissing him slow and easy, matching the pace with which Sam is stroking himself. He moves from Sam’s mouth to his cheek, pressing kisses there, dragging his mouth all over Sam’s face, ending up at his earlobe and nipping it with his teeth.

“Still got the plug in?”

“What do you think?”

Dean chuckles, reaching between their bodies to fondle Sam’s balls. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only because you won’t fuck me.”

“Hey, I fuck you plenty.”

“You know what I mean.”

Dean does. He may be fine with fucking Sam with whatever dildo or plug Sam desires, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to actually put his cock in Sam’s ass.

“Not gonna hurt you like that, Sammy. You know that.”

“Who says it has to hurt?”

“I do.” Dean kisses him again to shut him up.

“You’re no fun,” Sam says between kisses.

“I’ll show you fun.” Dean reaches around Sam’s body to tug gently at the hook inserted deep inside him, and Sam gasps into his mouth.

“More. Fuck. Dean.”

Dean carefully slides a finger into Sam’s hole alongside the plug, just to check that he’s still wet enough for this.

“God,” Sam says, thrusting back against Dean’s hand. “Just like that. Please.”

“Having fun yet?” Dean asks, biting Sam’s earlobe.

Sam comes with a drawn-out moan, ass clenching down tight on the plug and Dean’s thrusting finger.

“Good?” Dean says, pushing Sam’s hair out of his eyes and kissing his lips lightly.

“Fucking fantastic,” Sam says, lazy in the afterglow, and curls into Dean’s body.

“Sleep some more?”

“Mm.”

He stays awake this time, taking a few minutes to get out of his clothes, leaving only his boxer-briefs on, and scrolling through a food app to order cold juice, a burger, waffles, and a Russian salad. Then he sits down at the edge of the bed, unties Sam’s ankles, and removes Sam’s strappy sandals and stockings as gently as he can, so that Sam doesn’t wake. He puts them carefully away in their tissue-lined box, retrieving the red thong and negligee from the floor and washing them with liquid soap in the sink. He hangs them up to dry on the towel rack before going back to Sam.

“Where’d you go?” Sam asks, half-awake, as Dean spoons up behind him.

“Right here,” Dean says, kissing his shoulder. He slides his hand down to Sam’s ass. “Gonna take this out now, okay?”

“Mm,” Sam says agreeably, pushing his ass into Dean’s hand.

Dean kisses his warm skin again, letting his lips track a lazy path across Sam’s shoulder-blades as he eases the steel hook from Sam’s hole. Sitting up, he grabs the packet of wet tissues from the night stand and wipes away the lube from Sam’s inner thighs and between his ass cheeks, working a finger lightly inside him.

“Keep that up,” Sam says into the pillow, his voice muffled, “and I’m gonna jump you again.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna come again, trust me.” Dean bites his shoulder lightly. He turns Sam over on his back and reaches for his still-tied wrists.

He sees from the look on Sam’s face that he’s not ready to be untied yet, because freeing Sam also means ending the game and returning to their regular world of nightmares. “We’re not done yet,” he promises.

“Yeah?” Sam says, looping his arms around Dean’s neck.

“Oh, yeah.”

Dean scoops Sam up into his arms, bridal-style, and Sam laughs out loud at the unexpected thrill of it.

“Been a long time since you did that,” he says, allowing himself to be carried to the bathroom and deposited in the tub.

Dean smiles briefly, turning away from Sam to get the water running. Truth be told, even though there isn’t much he loves more than taking care of Sam, he wishes Sam hadn’t become slender enough for Dean to be able to pick him up so easily. At least he’s been eating better the last couple of years, putting on a little of the weight he’d lost so drastically after those horrendous trials had nearly killed him.

“Hey,” Sam says, his big warm hand encircling Dean’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Dean removes his underwear in a quick movement and gets in behind Sam. “Scootch up a bit.” The tub is large enough to fit them both, one of the reasons they pick this motel when they need a private getaway. 

He wraps his arms loosely around Sam’s waist, and Sam leans back against his chest. After a while, surrounded by warm water, Dean begins scooping handfuls of it and combing it into Sam’s hair, getting the long strands wet before massaging Sam’s sweet-smelling shampoo into it.

“Mmm,” Sam says, voice soaked in bliss. “Feels so good, D.” 

He sounds half-asleep. Dean lets himself believe it until Sam’s hips start making small circles on Dean’s lap. He’s been half-hard since Sam came the second time, letting his arousal rest just under his skin, a simmering warmth.

“Sammy,” he warns. 

Sam ignores him, pressing back until Dean’s cock is nestled into the impossibly warm crevice between his ass cheeks. He begins sliding up and down, trapping Dean between his cheeks and squeezing.

“Don’t forget the conditioner,” Sam says lazily, his hips working maddeningly slow.

“I’m gonna tie you facedown on the bed and spank your ass with my belt for this.”

“For what?” Sam’s fingertips move up and down Dean’s arms, which are encircling him almost painfully tight now as Dean begins to thrust back against him. They build up a practised rhythm, Dean’s cock slotting perfectly into place against Sam’s ass like it was made just for him. “For wanting to make you come?”

“For distracting me.”

“Not much of a punishment if I enjoy it.” Sam turns his head and kisses Dean. “C’mon, big brother,” he says into Dean’s mouth. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“As you said,” Dean says, pushing Sam forward for a moment, “I shouldn’t forget the conditioner.” He picks up the bottle and slicks up Sam’s ass with it before yanking him back down into place.

“You,” Sam says, breathless, turning his head for more kissing, “have the best ideas.”

“And you,” Dean says, kissing him hard, “need to shut the fuck up and let me fuck you.” He clamps a hand over Sam’s mouth, knowing how much Sam loves being hand-gagged, and uses his other hand to grip Sam’s hip painfully tight and hold him securely in place as he thrusts up against Sam’s perfect ass and drenches his crack in come.

“We really gotta stop taking it in turns to come, or we’ll just be fucking all weekend,” Sam says after they’ve caught their breath.

“I don’t see the problem with that,” Dean says, resuming his massaging of Sam’s scalp.

 

*

 

Later, when they’re scrubbed squeaky-clean and sitting down at the table in their bathrobes, drinking ice-cold mango juice and stealing bits of food from each other’s plates, Sam says, “Did you mean it? About never actually fucking me?”

“I didn’t say never,” Dean hedges, taking a large bite of his cheeseburger. “Why? You gonna go looking elsewhere if you don’t get it from me?”

“Maybe,” Sam says lightly, popping a fry into his mouth. His hair is still damp, curling softly around his ears.

“Really?” Dean says, thrown.

“Maybe,” Sam says again, grinning. “Hey, remember the time you found me in that washroom with that trucker?”

Dean stares at him. “Are you _trying_ to drive me nuts?”

“You pretty much bashed that poor dude’s face in.”

“You were fifteen and he was like fifty. He had no business putting his hands on you.”

“And his mouth. I had the bruises on my neck for a week.”

Dean remembers. Every time he’d glanced at Sam’s open collar and seen the marks there, he’d felt the urgent need to go and shoot the crap out of something.

“Don’t push me, Sam,” he warns.

“Or what?”

“I mean it. Seriously. It’s not funny.”

Sam blinks. “Relax, D. I’m just messing with you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s working,” Dean mutters into his glass of juice, suddenly feeling the need for something stronger.

“Hey,” Sam says. He slides off his chair in a quick, fluid movement and kneels between Dean’s knees. He reaches up to cup Dean’s face. “You really think I’d let anyone else do that to me? Touch me like you do?”

“I dunno, Sam.” Dean smooths Sam’s hair back from his forehead. “I’m… it’s not enough, I know that. But I’m trying.”

“Is it really so hard? Doing this sort of stuff in bed?”

“I—no, no. Course not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Sometimes it seems like… like you really want me to hurt you. And if I can’t…”

“I’ll go somewhere else?” Sam says, soft.

Dean nods, bending to rest his forehead against Sam’s. “It’s fucking terrifying.”

Sam lets out a thoughtful hum, sliding his arms around Dean’s neck and scratching absently into his hair.

“What?” Dean asks, suddenly wary.

“It’s nothing bad, don’t freak out. I was just thinking… have you heard of collaring?”

Dean blanches. “Sammy, if you want me to put you on a leash and treat you like a slave or something—”

“No, no,” Sam says, soothing. “You’ve been watching too much porn.”

“Gotta do my homework, don’t I?”

Sam smiles, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “It would just be something to remind you I’m yours. And I wouldn’t wear it all the time. Just when we play.”

“Like a symbol, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold that thought.” Dean disentangles himself gently from Sam’s arms and goes to his duffel, unzipping a side pocket.

Sam stares at the object in Dean’s palm. “You brought it with you?”

“I was wearing it under my suit,” Dean confesses. He walks over to Sam again, putting his hand on the crown of Sam’s head. “So what do you think?”

“I… it’s yours.”

“It’s ours,” Dean says. He kneels beside Sam, facing him.

“Why didn’t you show me? That you were wearing it?” Sam asks, soft.

“I kinda got fixated on you. You were really out of it earlier.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “It’s been a while.”

Dean is instantly guilty. It’s been way too long since he paid attention to Sam like this, since he took care of Sam properly. “I’m sorry, Sammy.” He touches Sam’s face. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Not your fault.” Sam nuzzles his palm. “So much has been going on.” 

“We’ll take some time out every coupla weeks,” Dean promises. “Just you and me.”

“And kinky sex?” Sam asks with a tiny laugh.

“That too,” Dean says, kissing the corner of his mouth. He reaches for the belt of Sam’s robe. “Can I?”

“Yours, remember?” 

Dean smiles against Sam’s mouth, pulling Sam’s robe open at the neck. He’ll never stop asking Sam for permission to do anything to him, not even when Sam encourages him to just take whatever he wants. It’s a lesson he’s learned the particularly hard way.

Sam dips his head to let Dean pull the string of the necklace over his head. Dean shortens the length and ties it off below the nape of Sam’s neck so that the amulet rests in the hollow of his throat, the string snug around his neck like a thin collar.

“When I used to wear it all the time,” he says, “it was like a constant reminder that I belonged to someone, that my home was wherever you were. Whenever you wear it like this,” he adds, pressing his palm against Sam’s tattoo, “you’ll remember I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” Sam says, still in that soft, almost hurt tone.

Dean knows him inside and out, and he knows Sam isn’t in pain, not really. Dean, a little overwhelmed himself, rests his forehead against Sam’s again.

“Always,” he says, and seals the promise with a gentle kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Given the abysmal kudos to hits ratio for this fic, I guess I did something wrong, or maybe it was just boring. Oh, well. I tried. It was something I felt I needed to write, even if it doesn't appeal to too many other people.


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